


down the rabbit hole

by emavee



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Dimensions, Bucky and Sam are good bros, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, i can't tag for shit oh well, peter really needs to stop getting himself into trouble, some whump later, today is a good day to love and appreciate sam wilson ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-06-27 20:33:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15692886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emavee/pseuds/emavee
Summary: He just wanted to stop it, to get it away from Sam and Bucky before someone got hurt, so he tried to grab it. That was a mistake, because he was too late. Whatever Sam and Bucky had done to the disc had activated it, and in trying to protect them, Peter had been dragged along for the ride.or: When Peter, Sam, and Bucky accidentally find themselves in another dimension, they struggle to find a way home while evading Hydra, a super assassin, and the underground rebellion known as the Avengers.





	1. Chapter 1

The lab feels too crowded. Why. Why did he allow this combination of people to invade his space like this? It’s too chaotic, even for a place that’s housed nearly eighty different explosions in its time.

 

Tony sits at a workbench, glaring down at the damage to Sam’s wingsuit. Some guy with good aim and stereotypical bad-guy-of-the-week motivations had shot him out of the sky, and Steve had come crawling to Tony to fix it for them. Sam was fine, and Tony was glad for that, but he wasn’t thrilled with the fact that Steve had brought along both his little sidekicks when he dropped in on his emergency visit.

 

Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson were two of the most insufferable, immature _idiots_ he’d ever met.

 

And he really didn’t like how Peter Parker was watching them argue with rapt attention. He was supposed to be watching Tony, learning about the Falcon gear, using that big brain of his to figure out how to fix it. Instead, he stood just a few feet away from the squabbling superheroes, eyes bouncing back and forth between them as if he were watching a tennis match.

 

Steve smiled sheepishly. “Sorry about them, Tony.” He was sitting on the bench next to Tony facing the opposite direction so he could keep an eye on his bickering toddlers. This was the closest the two of them had been since the mess in Siberia and it made Tony a little uneasy, but he didn’t plan on having a discussion about it in front of the kid. It had taken a bit of convincing to get Peter to accept the fact that Steve and his band of misfits were coming back, and frankly, a decent amount of _that_ discussion had served to convince Tony as well. Now Peter seemed to forget all about it. At least he wasn’t fawning over Captain America, just learning some new snarky comebacks he could hurl Tony’s way once Team Cap was gone.

 

He was already a little shit. He didn’t need new material. At least it gave Tony a new reason to hate Barnes, you know, besides the whole _killed-his-parents_ thing.

 

“They’re corrupting my intern, Steve.”

 

He could practically hear Peter rolling his eyes. “I’m not being corrupted, Mr. Stark. They’re just telling me about their latest mission!”

 

“They seem to have very different views of how it went down,” Tony said. “What really happened out there, Rogers?”

 

“They’re both exaggerating a little bit. Sam, you were very heroic, but you didn’t take out thirty guys in under two minutes. And, Buck, yes, you caught Sam when he was shot, but you didn’t cradle him in your arms like a baby. He wasn’t even unconscious.”

 

Tony glanced back and laughed when he saw how downtrodden Peter looked at hearing that both stories were fake. He was always amazed at how Peter, a superhero himself, became starstruck whenever he was in the room with his childhood idols, hanging onto their every word and believing every grand adventure they spewed, even though he had his own fantastic stories to tell. How many times had Sam Wilson crashed a hijacked plane? When had Bucky Barnes scaled the Washington Monument? How often did Captain America lift a collapsed building off of his back? Of course, they didn’t know any of that. To them, Peter was an awestruck civilian intern who they could brag to.

 

Peter was a steady, almost calming, presence in the lab, despite his eager excitability. Sure, he was magnifying the chaos that radiated off of Sam and Barnes, but he was still Peter, and this lab wouldn’t feel complete without a little bit of classic Parker energy. Thank God, because if it was just Tony and Cap and the idiots, he might combust.

 

He turned back to Sam’s gear. It was a pretty simple fix, shouldn’t take too long. Cap and the gang wouldn’t even have to stay the night. Tony checked a couple more things before spinning around to let Sam know the good news.

 

Steve was checking his phone, not watching what was happening on the other side of the lab. Barnes and Sam had gotten into a heated debate about who would be better at throwing Cap’s shield. To demonstrate his super frisbee throwing skills, Sam had grabbed something small and flat off of Bruce’s station and was showing a wide-eyed Peter how he would go about aiming and letting it fly with the flick of his wrist. Bucky was arguing back that his math was off, that his angles were all wrong, that he would never hit anything ever with technique like that. He reached out and grabbed at the thing in Sam’s hand, the two of them wrestling like children.

 

One minute, Peter was watching with rapt amusement, then the next, his eyebrows were shooting up, his face morphing into an expression of fear and confusion. Seemingly acting on instinct, the kid reached out and grabbed the item. He looked like he wanted to throw the thing far, far away from them.

 

It all happened in less than an instant. Peter’s panic, grabbing the device, meeting Tony’s expression with wide eyes—and then they vanished in a flash of light.

 

Poof. All three of them gone, without a trace.

 

Tony shot to his feet, knocking into Steve in the process, his screwdriver clattering on the ground. “Peter!”

 

Steve looked up and frowned. “What happened? Where’d they go?” He stood up slowly and looked around the lab. “Tony?”

 

Tony stared at the spot Peter, Barnes, and Wilson had been standing just seconds before. “They… they disappeared.”

 

“Huh?” Steve walked over to Bruce’s station and leaned over to glance under the table, as if two superheroes and a huge metal-armed former assassin could be hiding down there.

 

“They just disappeared. Poof.” Tony had sort of become incapable of blinking. If he did, Steve might disappear, too.

 

“Poof?”

 

“Don’t mess with that!” Tony snapped, watching as Steve began to rummage around on Bruce’s desk. “I don’t know what happened. Just—just don’t touch anything. I need to get Bruce in here, now.”

 

“He’s in Brazil, I thought.”

 

“He’ll just have to cut his trip short. Peter, Birdbrain, and Cyborg just disappeared. Into thin air, Rogers. They’re just gone. Flash of light—then nothing. I need to know what that thing was, so I can get them back.”

 

“You think you can do that? Get them back?” Steve is looking at him with wide puppy dog eyes. He was scared. His best friends vanished, but Tony can fix it, right?

 

Right?

 

“Of course,” Tony says, swallowing thickly. They’re not dead, just missing, just gone, just… Just what? He’s so out of his element here, but Steve’s looking at him like he can fix anything, so Tony guesses this is on him anyways.

 

“God damnit, Parker,” Tony muttered. “You better not be dead, or else your scary aunt’s going to kill me.”

 

* * *

 

 

Peter felt the hairs on the back of his neck stick straight up, felt the air crackle with anticipation. Something was about to happen, and the source was that weird disc Sam had grabbed from Dr. Banner’s desk.

 

He just wanted to stop it, to get it away from Sam and Bucky before someone got hurt, so he tried to grab it. That was a mistake, because he was too late. Whatever Sam and Bucky had done to the disc had activated it, and in trying to protect them, Peter had been dragged along for the ride.

 

The burst of light that exploded from the disc was so bright that it nearly knocked him off his feet. He stumbled back, letting go of the disc to blink and rub his eyes.

 

“What the hell?” Sam said. “What the hell? What the hell?”

 

Slowly, Peter peeled his eyes open, relieved to see that the blinding light was gone. Instead, he saw Sam and Bucky in front of him, the disc on the linoleum floor between them, and the dimly-lit lab around them.

 

Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers were gone. The Falcon gear was gone from Tony’s desk and so were the rest of Tony and Peter and Dr. Banner’s projects. The floorplan was the same, but the room was much neater—paper files far more organized than Tony ever was.

 

“What happened here?” Bucky asked, looking around. “What is… that?”

 

Peter followed his gaze and sucked in a breath. On the wall, in huge letters, engraved in the metal as if it had always been there was the word _OsCorp_. The more he looked around the room, the more OsCorp commodities he saw, and not a single sign of Iron Man or Stark Industries anywhere.

 

“This isn’t the lab,” Peter said. “What happened? Where are we?”

 

“OsCorp, apparently,” Sam said dryly. “How the hell did we get here?”

 

“You obviously screwed something up,” Bucky said, glaring at Sam.

 

“Me? This is clearly all your fault. But it’s fine. We’ll figure out how to fix Barnes’s mistake, right kid?”

 

Peter realized both Sam and Bucky were looking to him for answers. They were the adults, but Peter was the tech intern who was supposed to know every inch of that lab. But he didn’t mess with Bruce’s stuff, not unless he was invited. He never would have taken something off his desk. He should have stopped Sam. Quietly, he picked up the disc from the floor and tucked it into his jacket pocket. It was warm from… whatever had happened, but the heat was fading quickly. Even as he pocketed it, the disc had almost returned to its usual unassuming cold. Hopefully it wouldn’t explode again in his pocket.

 

“I don’t know,” Peter said. “I don’t know what’s happening, guys. I’m sorry.”

 

Their faces turned soft and sympathetic.

 

“Hey, don’t sweat it kid—”

 

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out—”

 

“I’m going to call Mr. Stark,” Peter said, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “He’ll know what to do—Shit. No service.”

 

“No service?” Sam leaned over his shoulder to have a look. “How is that possible? That’s one of those fancy StarkPhones, right? I thought you were supposed to have service anywhere on Earth!”

 

“Maybe we aren’t on Earth,” Bucky said. Sam and Peter looked up at him and he shrugged. “Just a hypothesis.”

 

“You think we’re not on Earth anymore?” Peter asked.

 

“At least not the one we’re used to. Look, I know it sounds crazy, but crazier things have happened.”

 

“We’re on another Earth?” Sam asked.

 

“Like another dimension,” Peter said. “That—that’s why OsCorp owns the lab, not S.I.”

 

There were footsteps in the hallway and Peter whirled on the door. A man stepped into the lab, frowning intently at the tablet in his hand and grumbling to himself.

 

“Happy!” Peter called, before he could stop himself.

 

Happy’s head snapped up, wide eyes taking in the scene in front of him before his expression melted into a resigned frown.

 

“What are you doing here?” he hissed, taking a step towards them. “You can’t just— I mean— You need to— What are you doing here?”

 

Peter opened his mouth to answer before realizing that Happy wasn’t looking at him. His attention was above Peter’s head, where Bucky and Sam stood behind him.

 

“Uhh…” Sam shifted nervously. What was the right call here? If this really wasn’t their world, how could they be safe? They didn’t know this place.

 

And Happy clearly didn’t know Peter.

 

Also, he worked for OsCorp?

 

Happy sighed. “A heads up would have been nice, but I get it. You need to do your thing. Just—just don’t talk to anyone on your way out, okay? And try not to let anyone see you. The last thing I need is more people coming up to me talking about how they saw Captain America sneaking through OsCorp. Now, you need to get out. Norman’s coming for an inspection and he _can’t_ find you here. Take your friends with you.”

 

Peter, Sam, and Bucky glanced at each other. Okay, what?

 

“Right,” Bucky said. “We’re going. Come on guys.”

 

He ushered Peter and Sam out the door past Happy, who watched them with a frown. Peter hated the way his eyes skipped over him without a hint of recognition. Sure, the Happy he knew back home seemed to barely tolerate him, and Peter knew he annoyed the hell out of him, but that Happy knew who he was. This was not his Happy. Happy had spent too much time reading his endless stream of texts and listening to him ramble in the car to not know who he was. Peter shuddered slightly, feeling almost like he had faded out of the real world, like he wasn’t there. Not seeing Happy roll his eyes and purse his lips in an effort to deal with Peter was such a foreign feeling that nausea crept up in his throat.

 

Plus, Happy hated OsCorp, maybe even more than Peter and Tony did (or maybe he just got worked up about it more easily). He would never work there. He cared too much about Tony for that.

 

Peter cast a look at Happy’s back as he shuffled past, the fear of being deposited into some new world that didn’t know him swelling in his chest.

 

“Where do we go?” Peter asked, ducking his head and the three of them scrambled out the tower door. Peter looked back at it as they crossed the parking lot. The Avengers’ _A_ was now _OsCorp_ , in happy green letters, and Peter tore his eyes away to blink hard at the ground, wishing for something familiar. He fidgeted nervously with the outline of the disc in his pocket.

 

“I say we find someone who can fix this,” Sam said. “Stark, maybe?”

 

Bucky glanced at his watch. “Well, assuming time works the same why here as it does back home—”

 

“Why would it not?” Sam asked, rolling his eyes.

 

Bucky glared at him. “It’ll be dark soon. We need to find a place to sleep tonight. It’s gonna get cold.”

 

It already was cold. Peter wrapped his jacket around himself and shivered in part from the chill in the breeze as well as the looming feeling that everything was so, so _wrong._

 

“I mean I can handle a little chill,” Sam said, “but I think Pipsqueak here is gonna need a bed.” He cast Peter a glance and frowned when Peter shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

 

Peter felt his cheeks redden, embarrassed at being referred to as “Pipsqueak,” but at least that meant they weren’t abandoning him. Not that they would have any reason to, and Peter definitely figured they should stick together since they were probably the only people from their world here, but Bucky and Sam didn’t really know him, and maybe they wanted to figure this thing out without having to babysit.

 

“My apartment isn’t too far,” Peter said. “I mean, it’ll take a lot of explaining, but my aunt’s always been one to roll with the punches. She’ll let us stay. And maybe the other me can help us find Mr. Stark.”

 

“You think there’s another version of you here?” Sam asked.

 

“Yeah, probably,” Peter said. “I mean, there was another Happy, and he thinks one of us is Captain America, so that person also obviously has a doppelganger. Hey, which one of us do you think is Cap?”

 

Bucky and Sam looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Really?” Sam asked.

 

“Right,” Peter muttered. “Supersoldier switcharoo.”

 

Their world had Steve Rogers, this world got James Barnes. He wondered if there was a brainwashed evil version of Steve here. That was a scary thought.

 

“God, I can’t believe there’s another Bucky here,” Sam said.

 

“Yeah, it’s really freaky,” Peter agreed, leading them down the street. “I can’t believe I’m actually going to meet another version of myself. That’s crazy!”

 

“I mean sure,” Sam said, “but I’m scared.”

 

“Why?” Peter asked, watching the man with wide eyes. Bucky glared at Sam like he already knew what was coming.

 

“Two Buckys? This poor world. One is bad enough—” He was cut off when Bucky socked him in the arm. “Ow!”

 

“Oh, don’t be a baby,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes. “You got the kid all worked up for nothing.”

 

“I was not worked up,” Peter said, flushing.

 

“I’m gonna hail a cab,” Sam said. “I’ve got my wallet. Hopefully American currency is the same here… Guess we’ll find out the hard way if it’s not.”

 

They did, take the same currency, that is. Peter, Bucky, and Sam slide into a cab, avoiding eye contact and ducking the strange look the cabbie gives Bucky and his metal arm. Peter gives him his address and they’re off. He fidgets nervously, watching this strange new world pass by the window.

 

So much of it is the same. Streets Peter’s walked down, buildings he’s swung between, roofs he’s sat on—they’re all still there. He catches sight of some Avengers-themed graffiti: Cap’s shield, an Iron Man helmet, a pair of Falcon wings. Good. It gives him a little hope to know that the Avengers and Mr. Stark are out there. They can help.

 

They passed the street where Ned lived and Peter wondered what he’s like here. Are he and other Peter friends? Do they play with legos and have movie marathons and talk about everything under the sun? He can’t imagine a life without Ned in it. Other Peter has to be his friend.

 

What is Other Peter’s life like? Is he Spider-Man?

 

He begins to spiral a bit, down the rabbit hole of what his life would be like if he weren’t Spider-Man. Scrawny, powerless, unable to help people. Everyone he’d ever saved—where would they be now? What would have happened to them? Would he know Tony? It was a terrifying thought, he realized, a life without Mr. Stark in it. He was having a hard time picturing it, but, as much as he hated it, Tony wouldn’t know him were it not for Spider-Man. He could claim all he wanted that Peter was a genius, that Peter Parker was just as important as Spider-Man, but that wouldn’t change the chain of events that had led to their meeting. Tony Stark wouldn’t think anything of ordinary Peter Parker.

 

He’s too stuck in his thoughts to notice when the cab stops, so Bucky has to tug on his arm to get him out of the cab. They’re standing on the sidewalk across the street from his apartment, waiting for Peter to lead the way. A couple people walking by give them odd looks, so they duck into an alleyway, under the cover of the shadows.

 

Peter stared at his building, nerves building up in his chest. How was he supposed to explain this? The three of them didn’t even know what happened, just that this wasn’t their world. It was crazy. Peter couldn’t just expect May to open her home to three strangers with a ridiculous story about bright lights and alternate realities. It was too much.

 

In his growing panic, his senses were going haywire. They latched onto anything—so much input suddenly hitting Peter all at once. Someone was chopping vegetables in another apartment; another person was clicking a pen. Car horns honked and people shouted and traffic lights changed and someone spilled their coffee. He could feel Bucky and Sam’s eyes on him, but he could barely recognize them through the indiscriminate mass of sounds and smells and lights. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to block some of it out and focus up.

 

That’s when a woman’s laugh cut through everything else. It was bright and warm and just hearing it made Peter smile. Happiness, safety, comfort—they bubbled up in his stomach and drew him out of his stupor.

 

He blinked his eyes open and crept to the edge of the alleyway. _She was here._

 

Safety. Warmth. Home.

 

May walked towards the building door, her head thrown back in laughter. She was carrying groceries and talking to the person next to her. Other Peter, he figured, although he couldn’t see his face behind the grocery bags. But it had to be him. Peter recognized the jacket he was wearing. It matched the one Peter had on right now.

 

May shifted the bag to the side to get the door and Peter’s heart stopped.

 

This jacket was his favorite. Two years ago he put it on for the first time, and since then it had made a reappearance whenever there was even a slight breeze outside. He wore it in the cold school hallways, on New York winter streets, in the chilly lab when Tony forgot that humans, unlike bots, actually react to temperature. It was comfort, because it was Ben.

 

That’s why he loved it. It was Ben’s jacket and wearing it made him feel closer to his uncle, like he was still there with him.

 

And the person beside May, making her laugh, wasn’t Peter wearing the same comforting article of clothing. It was his uncle, alive and smiling, and Peter's heart just stopped.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter copes with the differences between this world and his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so long but I couldn't find anywhere to break it up so,,, sorry about that

“Ben?”

 

Peter was barely breathing. He watched his aunt and uncle disappear into the building, watched them smile and joke together for the first time in two years. May, she hadn’t looked that happy in so long, and it _hurt._ Her wide smile, the way her eyes crinkled, how her barking laugh shook through her whole body—it all cut through his chest like a red-hot knife.

 

He was crossing the street before his feet told his brain what the plan was. Sam and Bucky scrambled after him, trying to pull him back by the arm or get him to tell them what the hell was going on, but Peter had to get to the building. He had to see something. He needed to know for sure.

 

It took all his willpower to keep himself from just scaling the side of his apartment building. He knew, rationally, that he couldn’t do that; it was still light out, and Sam and Bucky were already staring at him like he’d lost his mind. He didn’t need to add freaky spider powers to the craziness the two of them were already trying to process.

 

Instead, he scrambled up the fire escape, his gaze never leaving his bedroom window. He perched on the edge, leaning slightly over the railing, and stared into the streaky window, thankful that there were no curtains drawn.

 

He’d climbed in this window a thousand times before. He could crawl through that room blindfolded. He should see his bed to the right, his desk up against the left wall, shelves stacked high with books and nerd memorabilia. But instead what he saw was darkness and dust. There was no sign that a teenager had ever lived in that room. Beside a spare, neatly made, unused bed, there were storage boxes full of out-of-season clothes and bins of files that needed to be kept out of the way. Some exercise equipment was tucked in the corner—nothing Peter ever would have used.

 

“I knew it,” Peter whispered. “I knew it. I knew it.”

 

He’d killed him.

 

“Whoa, kid,” Sam said. He set his hand on Peter’s arm and Peter realized he was shaking and had slid halfway down the brick wall.

 

“Hey, what’s going on?” Bucky asked. He knelt down to get eye-level with Peter. “Peter? What are you seeing?”

 

 _Ben died and it’s my fault._ The words died in his throat. He can’t tell them that.

 

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. “We can’t stay here. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Sam said. “We won’t stay here. It’s okay. We’ll figure something else out. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

 

He didn’t deserve their comfort, not when proof that the guilt he’d lived with was staring him right in the face, fully justified. He’d gotten his uncle killed. Without Peter, he’d be happy. May would be happy. Peter had ruined their lives.

 

Bucky and Sam, they wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t. They didn’t know what he was, what he could do. Ben had been shot because he went out with Peter, looking to connect with him as Peter’s newfound abilities threatened the steady life they’d built. Maybe he took pride in the people he saved now, but that didn’t excuse what his learning curve had taken from him. All the people he’d helped didn’t erase how he’d failed Ben.

 

And now there was definitive proof that Peter was the cause of his death. May and Tony and Ned, they’d told him over and over that he couldn’t blame himself. They didn’t know.

 

He had to tell them.

 

It wasn’t fair for him to keep this hidden. They deserved to know what he’d done.

 

Bucky and Sam on the other hand, well they deserved to know, too, but they’d have to wait. He still had to help them. He had to help them get home.

 

Then he’d tell them. He’d tell everyone. May, Tony, and Ned, they wouldn’t be able to look at him, but he couldn’t lie. He didn’t deserve their love and comfort. He was a monster.

 

But for now, the goal was to help Sam and Bucky. Helping people. It’s what Ben would have wanted.

 

_I’m so sorry, Ben. I never wanted this. I love you. I’m so sorry. Just hold on. Once I get home, I’ll come clean, I promise. I’m so sorry._

 

Bucky was staring at him with an expression so earnest that it stalled the sobs threatening to tear through his throat, and Sam was flicking his gaze back and forth between watching Peter with concern and eyeing the quickly setting sun. They needed to move on. If they weren’t going to sleep at the Parkers’ tonight, then they needed to find somewhere else. Peter would have to wait a little while longer to wallow in his guilt.

 

“Where do we go now?” Peter asked. He wiped at the tears on his cheeks, hoping that the two superheroes couldn’t really see in the dim light. Swallowing hard to try and reign in his emotions, he pushed himself to his feet and looked out across the street.

 

“Wilson,” Bucky said, standing to join Peter at the edge of the fire escape, “don’t you have an apartment in the city?”

 

Sam frowned. “I do. I would have suggested it, but the kid seemed so eager that we head to his place. Besides, I know myself, and there’s no way I wouldn’t freak the fuck out if a clone of myself rang the doorbell. I’ve got a bit of a thing about clones.”

 

Peter laughed weakly. He had to put on a show. He had to push away all signs of his freakout, or else they’d ask too many questions and then they’d know and then they wouldn’t want him anywhere near them. But he still wanted to help. He had to. “We’ll work it out. We’re not gonna let the Other Sam hurt you.”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky said. “Wilson needs to learn some humility, and I’m tired of having to be the one to teach it to him. Let someone else beat his ass for once. I’m gonna enjoy this. You got any popcorn, kid?”

 

“Where would I be keeping popcorn?” Peter asked, chuckling. He wondered briefly if Sam and Bucky were distracting him on purpose. He decided to go with it for the time being.

 

“I don’t know!” Bucky said, throwing his hands up. “Stark is always hiding snacks everywhere. Maybe you do the same thing!”

 

“That’s all him! We’re not the same person, you know.”

 

“Damn,” Sam said. “I’m hungry. Hope the other me has some food since the intern forgot to bring some along on our interdimensional acid trip.”

 

“Acid trip?” Bucky asked. He led the three of them back down the fire escape.

 

“I’m still holding out that this whole thing is one big trippy dream,” Sam said.

 

“Have you ever even done drugs?” Peter asked. “I mean, you’re an Avenger—plus, I really don’t think Captain Rogers would tolerate that.” He snickered into his hand.

 

“Are they still showing those PSAs?” Sam asked, laughing as well.

 

“Wait, what PSAs?” Bucky asked.

 

“Oh man,” Sam said. “You haven’t seen them? Like seven years ago, the Education Department or something got Steve to make all these videos for schools.”

 

“They’re all about like not breaking rules and getting enough sleep and not doing drugs,” Peter said.

 

“Wait, but Steve always breaks rules!” Bucky protested. “He’s been lying through his teeth since the 1940s!”

 

“Exactly,” Sam said with a nod.

 

“Also, he totally did experimental drugs and became a supersoldier,” Peter said.

 

Peter let himself chuckle, even as he glanced back at his apartment building, where Ben and May were probably making dinner and dancing in the kitchen, the way they used to. Peter’s smile dropped as soon Sam and Bucky took their eyes off of him. 

 

Tony always tried to cheer him up like this, but eventually he’d see that Peter was faking it, and then they’d have the emotional chat that Peter knew he hated having. He always felt bad, being a bother, but he needed it. He craved comfort and reassurance like oxygen. As much as he felt he didn’t deserve May and Tony’s kind words, he also wanted them _so_ badly. It was a cycle of guilt and selfish contentment that he didn’t want to bring Bucky and Sam into, especially not when they’d hate him soon.

 

Still, something awful gripped his heart, something made of grief and guilt and self-hatred. It wasn’t something he could shake away just by letting himself banter with his heroes.

 

The three of them walked along darkening streets, not wanting to spend any more of the limited cash they happened to have with them. Who knew how long they’d be here.

 

Luckily, Sam’s apartment wasn’t too far away. Peter just hoped it still belonged to Sam even in this other world. Clearly there were several large differences between this world and their own, and none of them really wanted to explain their situation to some random civilian.

 

Sam knocked on the door and they waited in anxious silence for a few moments. When no one answered, Sam tried two more times, while Bucky tried to look through the peep hole the wrong way.

 

Sam pulled him back with one hand. “Dude. It doesn’t work like that. I know it might be too fancy for your 1940s brain, but you gotta work with me here. I can’t be expected to teach you all the basics.” Bucky scowled.

 

“I don’t think anyone’s home,” Peter said. He was listening inside the apartment, but there was nothing. No footsteps, no TV, no heartbeat for him to pick up on.

 

“Well,” Sam said, leaning down the lift up the corner of the doormat, “if this guy’s anything like me, he keeps a spare key. Ah ha!” He held up the key triumphantly.

 

“That’s a terrible place to keep that,” Bucky said. “Anyone could break in.”

 

“Yeah, well I keep it there so if idiot supersoldiers ever have to crash at my place, they can get in. You and Steve have the combined common sense of a racoon. Don’t tell Steve I said that.”

 

“Oh, I will.”

 

“Do not!” Sam turned the key and cautiously pushed the door open. “Hello?” he called softly into the dark apartment.

 

Even if Peter hadn’t been able to hear that the place was empty, just one glance told him it was. The whole apartment was dark, not a single light except for a microwave clock in the kitchen. He ran his fingers along the small kitchen table, feeling the thin layer of dust that coated it.

 

“No one’s here,” Bucky said. “And they haven’t been for a while.”

 

Peter flipped through a stack of papers on the table. “Good news though,” he said. “This actually _is_ Sam’s apartment.” He held up a bill addressed to _Mr. Samuel Wilson_.

 

“Huh,” Bucky said. “I wonder how much had to align for you to have the same apartment in two different dimensions. If I weren’t freaking out, this would be the coolest thing to explore. It’s so fucking interesting. Parallel dimensions. It’s amazing.”

 

“Nerd,” Sam muttered. “Can’t you just be totally panicking like the rest of us?”

 

“Uh, I’m pretty sure Peter agrees with me,” Bucky said. “He’s a man of science, Wilson. You’re the odd one out here.”

 

Sam just grunted in response. “Let’s see what food other me has, huh? Shit, not much. Damnit, other me. Don’t you know a bunch of people from another dimension are gonna be stopping by? Why don’t you prepare for this shit?”

 

Peter’s stomach was already rumbling, despite the smoothies he and Mr. Stark had downed before heading to the lab earlier. That seemed like it happened weeks ago, not a couple hours. Being transported to another dimension really messed with your head.

 

Sam emptied out the cabinet and the fridge, laying what little edible food he had on the dusty table. Gatorade, granola bars, a couple questionable cheese sticks, a sad-looking orange, a box of Cheerios, two eggs, and four whole tomatoes.

 

“Do you always live like this?” Bucky asked Sam, looking over the spread with concern.

 

“No,” he said with a scowl. “I’m usually so prepared, since despondent superheroes are always showing up at my house ready for me to pull their asses out of the flames. You wouldn’t believe all the nonsense I’ve had to put up with, Parker.”

 

“Uh, just today we rolled up at Stark’s place so he could fix our problems for us,” Bucky said.

 

Sam paused. “That’s true. Huh. Oh well. What do you want to eat? You get first dibs, kid.”

 

Peter shrugged and grabbed a Gatorade and a couple granola bars. He picked up one of the cheese sticks and gave it a sniff. “I wouldn’t eat these,” he said, quickly setting it back down on the table.

 

“I’ll make eggs,” Bucky said. “if I scramble them, we can divvy them up.”

 

“You sure you know how to use the stove?” Sam asked. “It’s a little different from the fire pits you used to roast dinosaurs over.” Sam unwrapped the cheese stick and took a bit. His expression changed immediately, smirk melting into a pinched grimace. He spit the chunk of cheese into the trash can and dropped the rest in after it. “Nope.”

 

“He warned you,” Bucky said, nodding in Peter’s direction.

 

“Yep,” Sam said, shaking his head and gagging dramatically. “Good call, Parker. Ugh. That was nasty.”

 

Peter smiled at him weakly.

 

“How much money do we have left?” Bucky asked. “We’ll need real food at some point.”

 

Peter patted his jacket and stuffed his hands in all his pockets. Lint, keys, gum wrapper, receipt from lunch, the stupid disc, and thirty-six cents in change. He set the money sheepishly on the table.

 

“That’s all I’ve got. Sorry.”

 

“Sam?” Bucky asked.

 

Sam flipped through his wallet. “Seventy-three dollars and… twenty cents.”

 

“So, the three of us combined have seventy-three dollars and fifty-six cents,” Bucky said.

 

“You have nothing?” Sam said. “Really, man? Carry a damn wallet.”

 

“I lost my damn wallet while I was busy carrying your ass out of the fire earlier.”

 

“We already established that you _did not_ carry me.”

 

“It’s an expression!”

 

“It’s an exaggeration. Parker, if you learn one thing on this unexpected field trip it’s that this moron is a bitch-ass liar and you should never listen to him.”

 

“Real mature, Wilson.” Bucky glared at Sam.

 

He shrugged and waved him off. “I’m gonna hit the shower. What do you say you find a convenience store or something and get us some more food, Barnes? Oh and toothbrushes. I don’t really think we all want to share the one here.”

 

“Why me? Why can’t you go?”

 

“Because I don’t want to. Peter, maybe take a look at that disc? See if you can figure out how it works.”

 

“I can try,” Peter said slowly. He reached into his coat pocket and wrapped his hand around the disc, feeling the cool metal and the microscopic ridges that ran along the side.

 

“When I get back,” Bucky said, “I can help you, if you want. You’ll at least have someone to bounce ideas off of.”

 

Peter gave him a small smile. “Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.”

 

He’d been able to tell both of the two times he’d been in the lab with Bucky that the man had a fascination with science. He was a smart guy—he even helped Peter out with his math homework (and spiraled into a tangent about math for a solid ten minutes) one time before Tony shooed him away—but he hadn’t really been given the opportunity to study the way he wanted. Still, he was creative, intrigued, and intelligent, and he’d be able to see things Peter couldn’t. It was always nice to work with someone else.

 

Two heads meant twice the chance they’d make it home. And all Peter wanted was for them to make it home.

 

Home, so he could tell May what she deserved to know.

 

He shuddered involuntarily and gave the disc a tight squeeze, letting the feeling of the cool metal against his palm snap him back to the task at hand.

 

“Thanks for the money, Sam,” Bucky called grabbing Sam’s wallet from the table. “I won’t spend it all in one place!”

 

“You better not!” Sam yelled back from the bathroom. “That’s all we’ve got! Don’t forget toothbrushes!”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Bucky turned to Peter. “He has no faith in me.”

 

Peter shrugged. “He’s trusting you to go to the store.”

 

“Real big task, yeah.” Bucky chuckled. “Do you want to come with me?”

 

Peter glanced at the apartment door. He wanted to go with Bucky, he really did. He wanted to see this other dimension and help Bucky pick out food while he joked about only getting stuff Sam hated and he didn’t want to wallow in this apartment with nothing but his own thoughts and Sam’s humming in the shower to keep him occupied.

 

But he needed to focus on getting home, and he couldn’t seem to justify going out and having fun when he could be using his time to understand the disc. 

 

“No thanks,” Peter said. “I should probably stay and figure this thing out, if that’s okay.”

 

“Yeah, sure. Just thought I’d offer. See you soon, kid.”

 

“Bye,” Peter mumbled after him.

 

He sat down hard on the couch in the living area and pulled the disc from his jacket with a sigh. This wasn’t like anything he’d ever worked with before. He felt so in the dark, not even sure where to begin. He needed help.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky strolled the aisles of the pharmacy, throwing a few things into the basket clenched in his metal hand. Toothbrushes, a box of crackers, corn flakes, more granola bars, dried bananas, beef jerky. His options were a little limited, but he tried to get somewhat healthy stuff that could feed all three of them. He threw in a package of off-brand Oreos and some caramel candies that he loved but Sam hated. He hoped their bickering would help the kid relax a little.

 

He was worried. Ever since… whatever… happened at the Parkers’ apartment, Peter had seemed a little shaken. Sure, he had every reason to be—they were trapped in another dimension, and Bucky knew he and Sam weren’t doing a great job of letting the kid know that it wasn’t all up to him to get them home. Sure, if he did happen to figure out the thing, it’d be great, but if not, no big deal. They’d get help. Sam had mentioned finding Stark earlier, and Bucky figured that was at least a good place to start. If Stark couldn’t figure it out, well he probably knew someone who could.

 

Peter was a kid. A really smart kid, but a kid nonetheless. It wasn’t all up to him.

 

He paid with Sam’s money, the young guy at the register barely giving his metal hand a second glance. There was no skepticism on his face, just boredom. Bucky was so used to people seeing him and automatically fearing him. Even if they didn’t recognize him as the Winter Soldier (which was unlikely), he knew he still stood out from the general population in an off-putting way. There was a harness and a wildness in his eyes that he just couldn’t shake.

 

Maybe it was just the apathy of a jaded retail worker, but there was something strange and almost… relaxing about not automatically being seen as something dangerous.

 

It was odd to think about this world not having Steve Rogers as Captain America. The idea that Bucky could be a symbol of freedom and justice instead was mind-boggling. He wasn’t surprised when people here didn’t stop him in the streets for being Cap. His features had changed with centuries of mindfuckery from Hydra. His look in his eyes, for one, but also his pitched-forward, strained shoulders, his locked jaw, the wrinkles and wear on his face, the _freaking metal arm_ sticking out from his jacket. There might be another James Buchanan Barnes here, but they certainly weren’t the same person.

 

He hoped this world didn’t have a Winter Soldier, but his instinct was to guess that Steve was the one who had to undergo those horrors, to be torn apart and turned into a weapon, to have no control over himself or his freedom. He didn’t wish that on anyone, much less Steve, who only ever wanted to stand up for people and help do what was right. He hoped his instinct was wrong.

 

He arrived back at Sam’s apartment to find Peter and Sam on the couch, Sam flipping lazily through TV channels and yelling at the screen occasionally while Peter looked back and forth between the screen and where the disc sat on the coffee table.

 

“What’s going on?” Bucky asked, setting shopping bags down on the table.

 

“TV is different here,” Sam said without looking at him. “Like, it’s really similar, but just different enough to make it really, really freaky. Don’t you think, Peter?”

 

Peter nodded halfheartedly and Bucky frowned. The kid was clearly upset, but Bucky didn’t know anything about kids. He was at a complete loss when it came to comforting Peter. Of the two of them, this was much more Sam’s speed than his, but even Sam didn’t really seem to know what to do. If he had to guess at what had happened while he was gone, he’d say Sam had tried to calm Peter down by getting him to put down the disc and watch some TV with him, but that didn’t seem to be sitting right with Peter. His fingers itched nervously for the disc, unable to concentrate on the screen with the source of their problems just sitting _right there._

 

“You got toothbrushes?” Sam asked.

 

Bucky nodded. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Don’t answer that.”

 

“Great,” Sam said, getting up. “I’m gonna hit the hay then. Peter and I decided that he’d take the couch, so I guess find yourself a comfy piece of floor, Barnes.”

 

“Wait, does that mean you’re in the bed? Why do you get the bed? Peter should—”

 

“It’s his bed, Mr. Barnes,” Peter said quickly. “Sort of. I’d feel weird sleeping in someone else’s bed.” He smiled at him weakly. “But thanks for sticking up for me.”

 

Sam made an offended noise. “You say that like I didn’t also offer you the bed! Teenagers. No respect.”

 

Peter chuckled as Sam stomped overdramatically away. “’Night, Mr. Wilson.”

 

Bucky tossed some beef jerky to Peter, who caught it with a look of surprise. “Here you go, kid. You look like you could use some more food. Protein and nutrients for growing boys or something like that.”

 

“Thanks,” Peter said. “Sorry about the sleeping arrangements. Sam kept insisting I should take the couch. You can have it if you want. He’s not here to argue.”

 

“No way, kid. Really, I’m fine on the floor. No big deal. Plus, I think Sam’s bedroom has carpet, which means I can sleep in there and wake him up with my snoring.”

 

“You snore?” Peter asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“No,” Bucky snorted, “but he doesn’t know that. Fake snoring is one of the simple ways to annoy him. And Steve always defends me because it’s not like I can help it.”

 

He feels pride bloom in his chest when Peter actually grins.

 

_Great. Maybe you won’t totally fuck up this child you're stuck in another universe with._

“I’m going to get some sleep, too, kid. Try not to stay up too late.”

 

Peter nodded and shoved another piece of beef jerky into his mouth. “You got it,” he said between chews, then swallowed and added, “Goodnight, Mr. Barnes.”

 

“Goodnight, Peter.”

 

 

 

Bucky had never been one to get a good night’s sleep. Sleeping gave his wrecked brain the perfect opportunity to relive all the horrible things his hands had done. There was so much violence. His whole life, even before Hydra, was violence. And it was hard to live with what Hydra had made him do when every night he saw his own hands punching or shooting or choking the life out of people he didn’t even know.

 

He didn’t wake up screaming—he never did—but he knew he wasn’t going back to sleep anytime soon.

 

He wandered to the bathroom but stopped when he heard noises in the living area.

 

Peter sat up on the couch, huddled in on himself, with his forehead buried in his knees. His shoulders were shaking, hitched sobs muffled by his hands squeezed over his mouth.

 

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered. “I’m sorry.”

 

Bucky was frozen. What did he do? What was he supposed to do? Sam—would Sam know what to do? He briefly debated going to wake the other man up.

 

“I’m sorry,” Peter said again. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I’ll be quiet now, I promise. Sorry.”

 

_Oh._

 

“You didn’t wake me up,” he said, and then cringed at the bluntness.

 

_Nice. Real comforting._

 

“I’m sorry,” is all Peter says.

 

Slowly and awkwardly, Bucky sat down at the other end of the couch, glancing at Peter nervously, but hating what was happening. Useless. He felt useless.

 

He waited to see if Peter would maybe calm down on his own. Maybe just having another person in his presence would help.

 

It didn’t, and Bucky was forced to reevaluate. Maybe this wasn’t just about being trapped in another dimension. Maybe this wasn’t about Sam and Bucky putting too much pressure on him.

 

Peter’s demeanor had changed since the moment they saw his apartment. Before, he’d been overwhelmed and freaked out, sure, but still infatuated with everything around him. Peter was like that—always looking on the bright side, always amazed by things that probably should have terrified him.

 

“What did you see back there, kid?” he asked. “Back at your apartment. What happened?”

 

Peter shook his head. “I can’t—” His voice is choked and painful to hear.

 

“Come on, kid. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

 

“It’s my fault.” His voice came out as a sob. “I always thought… But, but _seeing him,_ it just proves it.”

 

“Proves what?” Bucky asked.

 

Peter lifted his head up and stared at his hands. Slowly, he rubbed one of his thumbs along his palm before clenching his fists shut and dropping his head again.

 

“I killed him,” Peter breathed. “This just proves what I knew all along. _I killed him._ ”

 

“Killed who?” Bucky asked. “Kid, you gotta give me more than that. Who are you talking about?”

 

“Ben,” Peter gulped. “My uncle. I— Back home, he’s dead. I watched him die, and-and I always knew it was my fault. And people kept trying to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault but I don’t live with them in this universe, and, and Ben is alive. That means that I really…”

 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Bucky said. “Believe me, kid, there’s a big difference between this and actually being responsible for someone’s death. You didn’t kill your uncle.”

“But I did!” Peter looked up. There was anger hidden behind the tears in his eyes. “Here, I’m not their problem. They get a spare room and fewer mouths to feed and two incomes and Ben is alive! If it weren’t for me, he would still be alive. That means it’s my fault. I’m responsible for his death. The worst thing that’s ever happened to me and it’s _all my fault_.” He sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to know. I, I want to help still. _Please._ Just, let me help get home and, and then I’ll tell everyone and you won’t have to see me ever again and, and hopefully I’ll never be able to hurt anyone else ever again.”

Bucky was quiet for a moment, thinking of a response. “Peter, how much do you know about my past?”

 

Peter sniffed. “I—I know enough. And I know you weren’t in control. It was Hydra, not you.”

 

“But you know I was an assassin. I killed people. And sure, I don’t do it now, but I still remember everything. I remember what it means to kill someone. Take it from an actual assassin, you didn’t kill anyone. I haven’t known you for very long, Peter, but I can tell you’re not a killer. What you are is someone who shoulders way too much. You’re blaming yourself for things that you had no hand in. You’re blaming yourself for a set of circumstances. That’s all this is.”

“You don’t understand,” Peter whined. “I— We were there because of me. He died because of me and, and I didn’t do anything to stop it. I could have—”

 

“There’s always someone stronger or faster or smarter than you. It doesn’t matter if you’re a kid or a supersoldier. There’s always someone else. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

 

“But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s alive here because I’m not around. It’s still because of me.”

 

“It’s because of coincidence, Peter. It’s because some horrible set of circumstances that just happened to align differently in two different universes. It’s not your fault. I’ll sit here all night and repeat that if I have to. _It’s not your fault._ ”

 

Peter shook his head. “You don’t know—”

 

“I do. It’s not your fault.”

 

“I—”

 

“It’s. Not. Your. Fault. Come on, kid. I don’t want to have to keep saying this, but I will. Not your fault.”

 

“But—”

 

“Not your fault! I mean look at how much is different here, right? Sam said that _Pals_ show—”

 

“ _Friends_ ,” Peter corrected softly.

 

“Right, _Friends_. Sam was so upset that they had five friends instead of six.”

 

“Well, yeah. How are they even supposed to do the show without Phoebe? It’s just not the same.”

 

“See? Things are different here, but that’s just because it’s a different world. It’s not your fault.”

 

Peter rubbed his eyes. “May-maybe you’re right.”

 

“I know I am.”

 

“Then why do I feel so guilty?”

 

“Because sometimes our feelings aren’t as rational as they should be. Just keep reminding yourself of the truth. It’s not your fault, kid.”

 

“Thanks, Mr. Barnes,” he said softly.

 

“No problem, kid. Try and get some sleep maybe?”

 

“I—I can try.”

 

“Good kid.”

 

Peter smiled, small and weak without quite reaching his eyes or showing his teeth, but a smile nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The next chapter will probably be a decent amount shorter so hopefully I can get it up pretty quickly!
> 
> Comments make my week so please please please leave one and I will love you forever <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Bucky explore the city

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I guess I sort of lied last chapter when I said this one would be up soon-- sorry! I was focused on classes and trying to update my other fic.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me!

It was Sunday in their little alternate reality, just as it was probably Sunday back home. They’d been gone from there for sixteen hours, still with no clue as to how they could get home.

 

Sam had suggested it and Peter had to agree: if anyone could get them back, it was Mr. Stark. Hopefully this world’s version of his mentor was just as brilliant as his own—and that Peter’s puppy dog eyes worked on this one, too.

 

Peter, who grew up never knowing a time without the Internet, wanted nothing more than to just Google _Tony Stark_ and figure out where he was, but their phones didn’t connect to the Internet here and Sam’s apartment distinctly lacked any sort of computer besides a tablet that he couldn’t figure out the password to.

 

“It’s numbers!” Sam said. “Why does it have to be numbers? I can’t guess that!”

 

Their only other option was the public library, which was closed for the day.

 

“Guess we’re gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way,” Peter sighed. “You guys should be used to that.”

 

Sam made an offended noise. “Hey! _He’s_ the one who’s like a million years old! I’m young and hip, kid.”

 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “No one says _hip_ , birdbrain. Tell him, kid.”

 

Peter shrugged. “Not really. I mean, it’s not the worst thing you could say, but yeah, not really… the _most_ common term these days…”

 

“Well then what would you say?” Sam asked.

 

“Probably nothing. Most of the time, people who actually are hip, don’t have to announce it.”

 

“You just said hip!”

 

“Ironically.”

 

“Nuh uh!”

 

“Face it, Wilson,” Bucky said. “You aren’t cool. Not like me. I know more modern lingo than you do, and I’m one-hundred and one years old.”

 

“That’s just because you spend all your free time learning about pop culture you missed instead of important historical events.”

 

“Well, they’re a downer!” Bucky argued. “And I always manage to figure out that I had some hand in a bunch of historical tragedies.”

 

“Hey, those weren’t your fault, man,” Sam said, his voice turning uncharacteristically soft.

 

“I know,” Bucky said. “It’s hard sometimes, but I know it wasn’t really my fault. I just have to remind myself.” He was looking Peter in the eye so intently that the kid felt the urge to squirm under the supersoldier’s gaze, but he could also see a softness, a reassurance behind his trauma-hardened façade.

 

“It helps to have someone else to remind you, too,” Peter said softly. Sam quirked an eyebrow up at the two of them and their silent conversation but didn’t say anything.

 

“It does,” Bucky agreed.

 

“Right…” Sam said. “Finish your corn flakes, Pete, and then you and Bucky can… wander around, I guess. Stark’s got an ego. You’re bound to find something about him somewhere.”

 

“What are you gonna do?” Peter asked between bites of soggy cereal.

 

Sam held up the tablet. “Guess every number I know. You probably shouldn’t be here while I do this, or else you’ll have to watch me slowly lose my mind.”

 

“Yeah, Peter, we should probably get out of here,” Bucky said, widening his eyes comically.

 

“Don’t worry, Mr. Wilson,” Peter said. “We’ll find Mr. Stark. Hopefully, you won’t even need that tablet.”

 

“Well, get on it,” Sam said. “The sooner you find him, the sooner I can throw this thing at a wall.”

 

“Don’t do that,” Bucky said. “Come on, Peter.”

 

He hastily shoveled the last few bites of cereal into his mouth before throwing the bowl in the sink and mumbling a farewell to Sam with a full mouth. The Falcon responded with a look of disgust but waved him goodbye nonetheless.

 

The pair set off down familiar streets, sending waves of discomfort up Peter’s spine. Everything was just ever so slightly off, and it bothered Peter to no end. He hated feeling out of place in the city he loved. This place looked like his home, but it wasn’t it.

 

There were too many differences, some of them huge.

 

For one, Stark Industries didn’t seem to exist, and the pit of fear in Peter’s stomach was starting to grow. It wasn’t just that it would be harder for them to get home, but where was Tony? Was he okay? Peter knew stories of his ego-driven and misguided ways and of his self-destructive tendencies, but the Tony he knew wasn’t like that. People called him arrogant and selfish and uncaring, but that simply wasn’t true, and Peter had never believed it for a second. Tony Stark was a good person, the best, even. He was meant to be a good man, who changed for the better, who put up a façade in order to protect himself, who was a hero. Even though he knew this wasn’t his version of the man, Peter felt sick at the thought of this Tony Stark not getting to be the hero he was supposed to be.

 

But Iron Man clearly existed. He’d seen graffiti of both Iron Man and War Machine, so, so they had to be here somewhere, right? Maybe S.I. was based somewhere else? That could be it.

 

“Why is everything OsCorp?” Bucky asked, clearly sharing a few of Peter’s frustrations. “What the hell is so great about them?”

 

“Nothing,” Peter said. “OsCorp sucks.”

 

Bucky snorted. “You’re just saying that because you work for S.I. Did Tony brainwash you into hating his competitor?”

 

Unconsciously, Peter rubbed his shoulder where the spider had bit him, then let his fingers trail down to his arm, where that lizard maniac had shredded his bicep with his ugly claws just a few months ago. OsCorp was nothing but disaster and pain, something Peter had lived.

 

“No,” Peter said. “I’ve just never been a fan.” What an understatement.

 

Bucky shrugged. “It’s okay. S.I. is better anyways.”

 

They walked the streets until Peter’s stomach began to growl loudly, betraying him to Bucky, who insisted they stop for some food. They ate beef jerky from his jacket pocket on a park bench and Peter was too hungry to care that it might look a little weird for some greasy-haired, metal-armed man to be feeding a teenager pocket food. His spider metabolism was already beginning to catch up to him, and Bucky and Sam had neither the funds nor the knowledge to support it. He’d have to take what he could get.

 

Their day had been very unsuccessful, and as they neared late afternoon (when they were meant to head back to the apartment and check-in with Sam), Peter was beginning to feel really disheartened. He’d read every sign, every advertisement, skimmed just about every paper and magazine he could get his hands on, perused tech stores to see if they had any Stark tech, scanned the shelves of bookstores for biographies on Tony or Stark Industries or Iron Man or even Howard—nothing. Every turn, a dead end.

 

Norman Osborn’s autobiography was advertised on huge posters. Back home, Norman Osborn was barely a blip in the footnotes.

 

Eventually, they made their way to the Tower, where Mr. Stark _should have been._ Peter hated those ugly green letters. _OsCorp_ was such a step down from _Avengers Tower_ that it made Peter nauseous.

 

They weren’t let past the front desk, the smug, patronizing receptionist talking to them like they were children and looking at them like they were dirt. Peter went outside and kicked the wall until security came edging around the corner and Bucky physically dragged him away before they got arrested.

 

So busy fuming, Peter didn’t even notice where Bucky had taken them until he was sitting in a bright red booth at a shiny metal table, happy music and sunshine filling the air. Bucky slid in across from him and reached over, taking the newspaper out of Peter’s hands and pushing a bowl of cotton candy ice cream in front of him.

 

“Eat,” he said gruffly. “And stop re-reading the damn paper. If there were anything in here, you would have found it by now.”

 

“But—”

 

“Eat,” he repeated. Bucky folded up the newspaper and reached behind him, depositing it in the trash without looking.

 

Peter couldn’t help obsessing over it. It was yesterday’s paper, and back home, the day before, Bucky had shown Peter an article in their own paper (Peter had teased him for still reading print news) about S.I.’s new prosthetics project. Bucky had been excited about it, and while Tony was busy, he’d asked Peter a few questions.

 

Here, in the exact spot where that article had been, was one about OsCorp partnering with the U.S. military. It hadn’t gone into details, but Peter knew that meant nothing good, not like Stark Industries providing high-quality, actually affordable prosthetics to people. Peter had been so proud of Mr. Stark when he'd told him about that newest project, especially since it had stemmed from a story Peter had told his mentor about a kid at the hospital he'd met while visiting as Spider-Man. 

 

This article was a disgusting replacement.

 

Peter glared at Bucky as he took a bite of his ice cream, although he wasn’t really angry with him. The more he learned about this place, the more he hated it.

 

Bucky looked back at him, eyebrows raised in challenge, as he sipped a chocolate shake. Peter let his gaze fall.

 

“It’s not healthy to obsess, Peter,” he said, not unkindly.

 

Peter hummed in response, the spoon in his mouth. “I know. It’s just so… frustrating, you know? And I’m starting to get kind of scared. Where is Mr. Stark?”

 

“I don’t know, kid.” Bucky shook his head. “I don’t know. But we’ll figure this out, alright?”

 

“Yeah,” Peter sighed. “Hey, how’d you know I liked cotton candy ice cream?”

 

“You and Stark had an argument about it,” Bucky said simply.

 

“Oh. Yeah. I didn’t realize you were listening.”

 

“You two were very... passionate about acceptable ice cream flavors.”

 

It was a few months ago, when Peter had had a bad day and Tony tried to cheer him up with ice cream. Peter loved cotton candy, sometimes with crazy toppings that “shouldn’t ever be paired with that ice cream, Peter, that’s disgusting.” He couldn’t help it if his taste buds liked cotton candy ice cream with gummy bears, chocolate chips, and strawberry sauce instead of Mr. Stark’s favorite salted caramel gelato. He’d asked Peter what he liked, and Peter had answered honestly!

 

It hadn’t been much of argument, really. There was no sincerity to Tony’s disgust. Well, there was, but it was equally matched by an expression of fondness on his mentor’s face (and his willingness to let Peter have his appalling dessert without hesitation).

 

Man, Peter really missed him. And May. Homesickness crept up his throat as he swallowed another bite.

 

The ice cream made him miss home, but it was such a nice gesture, and an amazing thing for Bucky to actually remember, that he ate every bite, and smiled genuinely at the man. He was really trying, and Peter couldn’t be happier that he cared enough to do that. Between this and Bucky’s speech the night before, he really was starting to lose his sense of loneliness. Sadness, guilt, anger—sure, but not loneliness.

 

“Thanks,” Peter said quietly as they left the diner.

 

“Of course, kid. It’s been a rough day. Besides, it was Sam’s money. What’s he gonna need that for? Birdseed?”

 

Peter laughed and was delighted to see Bucky grinning at his own joke. The newspaper in the trash was practically forgotten.

 

* * *

 

From the sidelines, a pair of shades watched the two figures walk along the street. They took in every inch of the picture, from the weight of their steps to the texture of their hair to the nervous ticks of their fingers. As they watched, a bright satisfaction was beginning to replace a burning rage that had been growing within them for so long. Finally, their mission would be completed.

 

“This is Natasha Romanov,” she spoke, her voice clear and her eyes gleaming with hunger. Finally, he was in their sights. Her fingers itched to finish the mission, to see the life drain from his eyes the way it had been taken from her friends. It was only fair that he become as empty as the people he’d killed. “I have eyes on the Asset.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this story has been pretty Bucky and Peter heavy so far, but don't worry, I wouldn't be much of a Sam fan if I left him out. There will be much more of him coming up soon!
> 
> Also, I'm super excited because now I get to really introduce the other characters in the next chapter, so stay tuned for that!
> 
> Thanks for reading and please, please drop me a comment if you can! They mean a lot to me and really help me keep writing!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Bucky, and Peter begin to learn who they are in this world

When the apartment door opened and announced Bucky and Peter’s return, Sam was sprawled on the couch, Other Sam’s tablet face-down on the floor underneath him. He’d entered the wrong passcode far too many times, and the thing had locked him out from trying for five hours.

 

He was done. He’d let Peter at it. Maybe the little genius could somehow hack his way in there. That was something people could do, right? Whatever. Clearly, the guessing game wasn’t working.

 

“Hey,” Sam called without sitting up. “Any luck?”

 

“No,” Peter said sullenly. “But I’m still holding out hope that we’ll find something at the library tomorrow. You didn’t manage to get into the tablet, did you?”

 

“No,” Sam replied. “Sorry, kid.”

 

Peter sighed and threw his coat on the table. Weakly, he poked the metal disc that had been sitting there all day. Sam had kept an eye on it, but nothing had happened. It might as well have been a drink coaster.

 

Almost casually, Peter glanced at the microwave clock. “It’s been more than a day,” he said. “Twenty-five hours and no clues.”

 

“I told you,” Bucky interjected, “we’re gonna figure it out.”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

Sam got up off the couch and stretched. “I’m gonna hit the can and then I’ll wrangle us up some dinner. You want to help me, Peter?”

 

“You need my help to put some crackers on a plate?” Peter asked, a grin quirking up one corner of his mouth.

 

“Shut it. I don’t need your sass.”

 

 

He was in the middle of washing his hands when he heard a crash. It was followed quickly by angry shouting, and it was never a good sign to hear Bucky yelling like that. Suds still on his hands, Sam grabbed a toilet plunger like a baseball bat and pushed the door open. He wasn’t prepared for what he found.

 

Bucky stood by the sink, his fingers itching towards the kitchen knives while his metal fist curled and uncurled in anger. He was stuck behind the table, unable to move, to reach Peter, because the kid was standing wide-eyed, an arm squeezed across his chest, a gun pressed into his temple. Sam froze.

 

“You foolish boy,” Peter’s captor spat from between clenched teeth. Sam peered harder, managing to look past the terrifying sight of the kid in danger, and his breath caught in his throat. Natasha Romanov was digging her nails into Peter Parker’s shoulder and staring at the kid with more anger than he’d ever seen on her face. Normally, she managed to keep her demeanor stony, all business. Now, she was a raging pillar of uncontrollable fury.

 

Beside her, Clint Barton, dressed in all black, his hair longer and shaggier than the version Sam knew, had an arrow notched and pointed at Bucky. His face was harder to read that Natasha’s, but his jaw was tight and hard with anger.

 

“You idiot,” Natasha continued. “You think you could hide forever? You think you could set foot on a single street without turning up on our scanners? You should know, it’s Tony Stark’s technology that led to your downfall.”

 

“I-I don’t—” Peter was trying to stammer his way out, but Natasha just let out a low growl and pressed the gun against his temple so hard that his head was snapped to the side and he squeezed his eyes closed. “Please. Listen—”

 

“You don’t get to talk!” she shouted. “Not unless you want to beg for your life. This is everything you deserve.”

 

“Let him go,” Bucky growled in a low voice. For just a split second, Natasha frowned at him before she turned her attention back to Peter.

 

“Why are you doing this?” Peter whispered.

 

“Why am I doing this? You killed my friends! Some of the best people in this world and you just snuffed them out like they were nothing! Nick, Peggy, Stark—”

 

“Wait,” Peter said, eyes going wide. “Do you know where Tony Stark is? I need to talk to him! I can explain everything, but I really need to see him. Please?”

 

Both Natasha and Clint froze. They looked at each other and then at Peter, clearly shaken.

 

“You-you think you’re funny?” Natasha’s voice broke. “You think that’s funny? I’ll kill you slowly for that and my only regret will be that you have no one who loves you to watch your life fade away.”

 

“Please,” Peter begged, eyes wide and scared. “I’m not who you think I am. Just let me talk to Mr. Stark. Please!”

 

“He’s telling the truth,” Sam said, deciding it was finally time to shake himself out of his frozen state. “We need to talk to Stark.”

 

Natasha and Clint had been so preoccupied with Peter that they hadn’t even noticed Sam until then. Their eyes went wide and their jaws dropped open. Somehow Sam managed to shock two superspies.

 

“Sam?” Natasha breathed. Clint’s bow lowered just slightly.

 

“What—” Clint blinked. “What are you doing here? We thought…” He looked at Peter. “We thought you were…”

 

“What’s going on?” Natasha asked.

 

“It’s kind of a long story,” Bucky said.

 

Natasha squinted at him. “James Barnes?” she whispered. “Am I going crazy?”

 

“He does… look like him…” Clint said, staring at Bucky as well.

 

“You know me?”

 

“I…” Natasha stammered. “I was an agent. W-we all know the found-founder of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

 

Bucky looked taken aback and Sam had to mirror his feelings. “I-I’m the founder of S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

 

“He’s not Captain America?” Sam asked.

 

“No…” Clint said. “Sam, you—are you okay? What’s going on? Why are you hiding from us in your apartment with the hundred-year-old founder of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra’s favorite assassin?”

 

“Assassin?” Peter choked. “No, I would never—” He winced when Natasha stiffened and he was reminded of the gun against his temple.

 

“Let him go, Nat,” Sam said. “He’s not who you think he is. None of us are.”

 

“Explain,” she hissed. “ _Now._ ”

 

“W-we accidentally came here from an alternate dimension and Mr. Stark is the only one who can help us get home,” Peter blurted out all in one breath.

 

“You…” Natasha spoke slow and careful, as if one wrong word would fracture her whole world, “you actually know… Tony?”

 

Peter tried to nod, but Natasha still hadn’t relinquished her grip. The sound of the gun sliding against Peter’s hair made Sam’s stomach flip nervously. “I-I’m his intern,” he said. “At Stark Industries. We were just messing around in the lab and w-we ended up here.”

 

Both Clint and Natasha were staring at Sam and he shifted slightly under their gaze. He realized suddenly that they were waiting for him to confirm Peter’s story. God, he missed Steve. He’d know what to do.

 

“He’s telling the truth,” Sam said. “All three of us, we’re from another Earth.”

 

“So, you’re not our Sam?” Clint asked, and just for a second, his face fell before returning to its stony resting place.

 

Sam shook his head carefully. “No. I’m sorry. I-I’m not your Sam, and Bucky’s not the founder of S.H.I.E.L.D., and Peter is definitely not an assassin. He’s just an intern, and a good kid, and he shouldn’t even be here. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s…” Natasha let her eyes flit between the three of them for some time. “It’s a lot to believe.”

 

“Could we really make something like this up?” Sam asked.

 

“No,” she said. “No. I know you’re telling the truth.”

 

“Then let the kid go,” Bucky growled, and Sam wholeheartedly agreed. Peter looked terrified.

 

Slowly, Natasha removed the gun and slipped it back into its holster. She unwrapped her arm from the kid’s chest and practically pushed him away from her. Peter stumbled just slightly, but Sam caught him by the arm and pulled him back so he was between the kid and the two deadly spies. The kid was shaking and his face was still pale, but he maintained his composure and watched the woman who’d held a gun to his head and hurled threats and insults at him with an impressive amount of bravery. Sam was always impressed by this damn kid.

 

Natasha was regarding Peter with something that looked closer to despondence than anger now, but she clenched her fists and let out a breathy, “Sorry, kid.” Not that that would cut it in Sam’s book.

 

“Like hell—” Sam started. “That’s all you have to say? He’s a kid, Natasha! You held a fucking—”

 

“It’s okay,” Peter said, although Sam didn’t miss the wobble in his voice. “Do you know people who can help us? Mr. Stark? We really just want to get home.”

 

Natasha winced, just barely perceptible, but there all the same. There was pain and sadness behind her eyes that threatened to come spilling out every time she looked at Peter.

 

Clint looked at Natasha and they seemed to have one of their silent conversations before Natasha gave him a small nod and Clint turned back towards Sam. There was sadness in his eyes, too, and confusion. His shoulders sagged in disappointment.

 

“We… we know a place. Hopefully they can help. You can come back to base with us.”

 

“Where is base?” Bucky asked, hesitant to go with them.

 

“Upstate,” Natasha answered. “One of the last Stark Industries properties that didn’t get seized by OsCorp. Come with us.”

 

As she turned, Sam finally caught sight of the logo emblazoned on her jacket: a bold letter _A_ inside a circle. The Avengers. Clint’s jacket had a matching one, although both their uniforms looked ragged and faded.

 

“Come on,” she hissed and with one last glance at each other, the three outsiders tentatively followed the superspies towards what they hoped was home.

 

* * *

 

Peter knew the drive to the compound pretty well by now, so his initial suspicions about the location of the new Avengers’ base were confirmed pretty quickly.

 

It was an awkward drive. All three of them piled into Black Widow and Hawkeye’s semi-banged up SUV, Natasha Romanov in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, Clint Barton in the passenger’s seat, drumming his fingers on his knee and reaching for the radio every few minutes only to be smacked away by Natasha, and Peter squished in the back between Sam and Bucky. They rode in tense silence the entire way.

 

The compound looked different. It was smaller, dingier, and looked closer to an old warehouse than a state-of-the-art training facility. There were no signs of it belonging to the Avengers, although finally there were markings of Stark Industries on the walls, even if they were faded.

 

Natasha entered a passcode and pulled into a garage, and it was unsettling to see the lack of high-tech security measures like facial recognition and the automated badges that Happy made everyone carry at all times. He missed Happy. It made his stomach churn a little thinking about the man working at OsCorp instead of with Mr. Stark, where he belonged. He knew Tony and Happy basically considered each other family at this point.

 

He didn’t miss Bucky and Sam having a silent conversation above his head as the car pulled into the compound, although he figured out fairly quickly what it had been about. As soon as they clambered out of the SUV, Sam and Bucky placed themselves on either side of Peter, Sam in front and to the left, Bucky behind to the right, his metal hand clicking as he curled and uncurled his fist.

 

He'd be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate it. He thought for sure he was going to die the moment Natasha Romanov held a gun to him, and even now, just looking at her made his pulse quicken and his whole body tense in fear. It didn’t help that she kept looking at him. Her and Hawkeye both. There was a dark sadness on the Black Widow’s face that reminded Peter over and over again that here, he was _an assassin._

 

Some version of Peter had killed people. He’d never killed anyone, and he swore he never would. He wasn’t even particularly fond of hurting criminals. The thought of ending someone’s life filled his veins with ice water.

 

But if this Peter did it, who’s to say that he doesn’t have that same instinct inside of him? Was his mutation calling to him to become a murderer? Was he destined to snap one day and lose himself?

 

They followed Clint and Natasha towards the door into the compound but were stopped when it suddenly flew open and in rushed two unfamiliar figures.

 

One was a man with dark hair and a bit of scruff on his chin while the other was a woman with a long brown ponytail, hair falling into her face as if she’d been working out. They both wore workout clothes and gripped each other’s hands tightly as they took in the sight before them.

 

“TicTac?” Sam asked before anyone could speak.

 

“Sam?” the man asked. Both his face and the woman’s turning into disbelieving grins as they ran towards Sam. The man pulled him into a tight hug, while the woman stood behind him and smiled tearily, offering a small wave.

 

When Sam didn't hug the man back, he pulled away and frowned at him. "What's going on, man?"

 

“It’s not him,” Natasha grunted, and both their faces melted into brokenhearted confusion.

 

“What do you mean?” the man asked. “Natasha?”

 

“Who are they?” the woman asked.

 

“He-he looks like Sam,” the man said. The woman nodded.

 

“Yeah, but he’s not him,” Natasha snapped. “Just like he’s not James Barnes, the founder of S.H.I.E.L.D., and the kid’s not the Hydra assassin we’ve been hunting for three years.”

 

The pair had been so focused on Sam that the seemingly had barely noticed Peter and Bucky’s presences. Now, their gaze was locked onto Peter, fear joining the myriad of emotions on their faces.

 

“What’s going on?” another voice asked as the door opened again and in stepped a different woman, this one with a sleek black bun and furrowed brows. She started when she saw them. “What the hell?” Then she squinted and added, “James Barnes?”

 

“Apparently not,” the man Sam had called TicTac responded. “And before you ask, apparently that isn’t Sam either.”

 

The new woman’s vision drifted to Peter and her face hardened. “Natasha, is that—”

 

“No,” Natasha said jerkily, and Peter flinched at the cold anger in her tone. “It’s not him, Hill. It’s not him. I failed.”

 

The woman with the brown ponytail laid a soft hand on Natasha’s shoulder, but she shrugged her off.

 

“It’s okay, Nat,” the man said softly. “We’ll find him.” The woman with the ponytail nodded in agreement.

 

“Yeah?” Natasha spat. “When? After he comes back and kills one of you?” The others shifted nervously.

 

“Alright,” Hill said, changing the subject. She looked pointedly between Black Widow and Hawkeye. “Are either of you actually going to tell us who these people are?”

 

“They’re from another dimension,” Clint said flatly.

 

Hill blinked. “Uh, okay. Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting.”

 

“Just wondering,” the man said, “what _were_ you expecting?”

 

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t that.”

 

“Another dimension?” the ponytail woman asked. “Like another Earth?”

 

Peter nodded. “We came here on accident. And we could really use some help getting home.”

 

“That’s why I brought them here,” Natasha said. “Hope, you’re probably our best bet to getting them out of here.”

 

The ponytail woman, who Peter presumed was Hope blinked. “Me?”

 

“You’re the only quantum physicist I know,” Natasha said. “This seems like your department.”

 

Peter fished the disc out of his pocket and held it out to Hope. “This is the thing that brought us here.” Hope stared at the three of them nervously, but reached out slowly and took the disc. “Also,” Peter said, “it was in Mr. Stark’s lab back home. Is he here? I really think he’ll be able to help, too. Not that I don’t have faith in you, Miss Hope, but, well, I know Mr. Stark and I know he can figure this out.”

 

Hope, Hill, and the man stared at him with wide eyes and unreadable expressions. Natasha glared at the floor, while Clint looked everywhere except at Peter.

 

“Do you know where he is?” Peter repeated, fear beginning to bubble up in his stomach.

 

Suddenly, Hill’s watch beeped twice. She glanced at it. “They’re back,” she said. “Scott, get the access code, will you?”

 

The man—Scott—made his way over to a wall panel and put in a code. As soon as he finished, a hole in the ceiling slid open and, in the sky, Peter could see two quickly descending suits of armor: Iron Man and War Machine. Peter grinned.

 

_Finally._

 

But as they got closer, his heart sank. Something was wrong. Something was always wrong here.

 

“Th-that’s not Iron Man,” Peter muttered. He’d seen the Iron Man suit a lot. He knew it pretty well. He’d even helped Mr. Stark work on it. This wasn’t the Iron Man suit. Same colors, same general shape, but it was different in a hundred little ways, including the way it landed with a little stumble. Beside Iron Man, War Machine landed in the signature superhero landing pose Peter was used to. This Iron Man was wrong.

 

“What do you mean?” Sam asked with a frown, but Peter just shook his head.

 

The Iron Man helmet slid open and Peter was met with the familiar face of Pepper Potts, who stared at him in horror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry! more will be explained next update!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more truths are revealed

All anyone here seemed to be good at doing was looking at Peter like he had kicked their puppy.

 

 _Or murdered their friends_ , he reminded himself with a twist of nausea.

 

He couldn’t stand the way Pepper was looking at him, and he couldn’t stand his growing despair. Since the moment they got here, he’d been searching for Mr. Stark…

 

And he was beginning to realize what every sign had been pointing to: this world had no Tony Stark, at least not anymore.

 

He knew he shouldn’t talk. He shouldn’t do anything. He should just let Sam and Natasha explain that he wasn’t an assassin, but his desperate thoughts were exploding out of him before he could stop.

 

“Where is Mr. Stark?” It was a whisper. He already knew the answer, he just didn’t want it to be true. It couldn’t be true.

 

“What’s going on?” Pepper asked. “Sam? Nat?” She was frozen in a painful mix of emotions—terror, agony, rage.

 

Rhodey took no time to recover. In a matter of seconds, he had stepped past Pepper and leveled his gun at Peter. It was becoming a truly terrifying pattern, and Peter gawked at him like a fish, wishing desperately for Sam or Bucky to protect him. That thought embarrassed him, but every minute of this world had brought some new horrifying twist and, frankly, he just wanted to go home.

 

Peter nearly sobbed with relief when they did just that. Bucky immediately tried to step in front of him, but Sam held out a hand and motioned for him to stay back. Then, he stepped in front of Peter himself, slowly approaching Rhodey with his hands raised, palm out placatingly.

 

“Don’t shoot,” he said. “Please, give us a chance to explain.”

 

“Sam,” Rhodey said. He didn’t lower the gun. “How—It’s good to see you, for real, man, but what the hell is going on?”

 

“The kid isn’t who you think he is.”

 

“I saw the footage, Wilson,” Rhodey growled. “I saw what he did. He killed my best friend, and I’m going to return the favor.”

 

It felt like something cracked in Peter’s chest with Rhodes’s words. He’d killed Mr. Stark. No wonder everyone looked at him like that. No wonder everyone wanted him dead.

 

It was ridiculous, how the tears were burning in his eyes, demanding that he break down. This wasn’t his Tony. This wasn’t the same man he knew. He had no connection to this world’s Tony Stark.

 

And yet, hearing that he was dead hurt like a knife to the gut, and the longer they looked at him like he was a monster, the more the knife twisted and twisted.

 

He fought the urge to break down. He fought the urge to hurl.

He fought the urge to scream and throw that stupid disc at the wall until it let him go home.

 

 _Mr. Stark is still alive back home,_ he reminded himself, and then felt instantly guilty. He was surrounded by the people who loved this version of Tony Stark—friends, family, even—and he was reveling in the fact that he still had the chance to see him again.

 

In an instant, Pepper’s suit had disengaged, and the woman was fleeing the garage. Natasha continued to stare at the floor and Rhodey kept his gun trained on Peter and for a few silent moments, nobody moved, except Hope who looked back and forth between Peter and Sam and Rhodey before stammering noiselessly and following after Pepper.

 

“Explain, Wilson,” Rhodey growled. “ _Now._ ”

 

Peter didn’t even hear it when Sam launched into another retelling of their crazy story. He was even having a hard time wrapping his head around his grief and self-loathing since there was still a ginormous gun trained on him and having actually taken a look at the specs for the War Machine armor, he knew what it could do. The Iron Man armor may have had a surplus of fancy weaponry, but the War Machine armor had always been something built so clearly for destruction that even when it wasn’t being used against him personally, it still stirred a visceral fear in him.

 

“I don’t believe you,” he heard Rhodey snap, and terror was beginning to blur Peter’s vision around the edges.

 

“Do you really think I’d bring him here if I thought he was the Asset?” Natasha hissed. “Do you really believe he’d still be alive?”

 

“We both know how you got your start, Natasha,” Rhodey countered. “Maybe you see some of yourself in him and it’s making you feel some sort of mercy. Maybe you’re letting that sway you. How do I know if I can trust your judgement?”

 

“Because I feel nothing but _hate_ for the Asset.” Natasha finally looked up, her lip curled up in a snarl as she rounded on Rhodey. “You know that. _I’m_ the one who’s been chasing him for _years_. _I’m_ the one who discovered Nick and Coulson were dead. _I’m_ the one who found Pepper and Tony on the rooftop, too late to even say goodbye. _I’m_ the one who sat there while Peggy—one of the best damn people in this entire world—bled out on the floor. I lost friends, too, Rhodes. I lost _family._ Don’t you _ever_ think that I wouldn’t do everything in my power to avenge them.”

 

“Wait,” Bucky said, something in Natasha’s rant having caught him so off-guard that he felt the need to interrupt the argument of two highly-trained killers. “Peggy, as in Peggy Carter?”

 

“Yes,” Natasha said curtly. “The original Captain America.”

 

Bucky faltered. “Peggy was Captain America?”

 

“She wasn’t even American,” Sam murmured.

 

Natasha rolled her eyes. “I’ll spare you the details of how the U.S. army used the name ‘Captain America’ to undermine the strength of a British woman, insinuating that just like she would never be American, she would never be a captain or a valued member of the army.”

 

“What about Steve Rogers?” Bucky asked.

 

“Who?” Rhodey asked, clearly irritated by the tangent the conversation had gone down.

 

“No, wait,” Hill said. “I’ve heard of him. Peggy mentioned him a couple times.”

 

Natasha nodded. “Yeah, he was supposed to be the original test subject for the supersoldier serum. Peggy knew him. Helped choose him for the project. He was a good guy, and when Hydra killed him right before they could go through the procedure, she took up the role in his honor.”

 

“So, Steve died.” Bucky said the words like they pained him. Peter knew the feeling. His mouth wouldn’t even form the words to affirm Tony’s death. Natasha simply nodded. “And Peggy became Cap…”

 

“And then she crash-landed in frozen water,” Natasha continued, “woke up seventy years later, helped form the Avengers to rebel against Hydra, and was brutally murdered by someone who shares your little intern’s face.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Judging from the glare Rhodey continued to level at him and the way nearly everyone flinched away from him, it was the wrong move.

 

“You’ll excuse me if I’m still finding all of this hard to believe,” Rhodey growled.

 

“I don’t know how to make you believe me,” Peter said. He was just about ready to sob, but that wouldn’t help anyone. “I don’t—I don’t know what to say, but I would never—I could never, ever hurt anyone, much less Mr. Stark. Back—back home, he’s—he’s like my mentor, like, I don’t know, I—I guess he—he’s like the closest thing I have to a—to a dad, I guess. He—he’s done so much for me, and I could never, ever hurt him. I don’t know how, how to prove—he seems like someone who would like their coffee black, but really, he likes it all froofy and, and fancy. And his favorite color used to be red, but then he started leaning more towards yellow, even though most people still think it’s r-red. And, and—I don’t know—one time in college, he hid a kitten in his dorm room for three weeks even though he hates cats all because it’s meows sounded just a little bit like DUM-E—"

 

“How do you know about that?” Rhodey asked. For the first time, there was a slight low-pitched whir as the suit powered down, and Rhodey’s demeanor shifted into a less offensive stance.

 

“He tells me stories like that when I’m upset,” Peter whispered. “He knows they distract me, and—and it really helps. I’m so sorry for your loss, and I’m so sorry that I look like him, but I’m not him, I swear. I’m sorry.”

 

Rhodey groaned and the gun was no longer trained on Peter. He scrubbed a metal-clad hand across his face. “Ugh. This is—Ugh. I… yeah, sorry, kid. This is a lot to process.”

 

“It’s okay,” Peter said. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Stop apologizing,” he said, and it sounded so much like something Mr. Stark would say that Peter could only nod and swallow the lump in his throat.

 

“I figured Hope could help them get home,” Natasha said. “You might be helpful too, Rhodes. I know interdimensional travel isn’t the same as rocket science, but you did go to MIT.”

 

“Peter’s smart as a whip as well,” Sam offered. “He’s bound to have some good ideas.”

 

Rhodey looked like the last thing he wanted was to spend more time with Peter, but he nodded slowly, and the War Machine armor finally opened, and the man stepped out.

 

It should have been like a weight off his chest—a terrifying suit of armor built for death and destruction was no longer pointed right at him—but strangely enough, it wasn’t.

 

Rhodey’s hands were shaking violently, and he walked as if his knees might give out on him at any moment, and his face still wore a hard mix of grief, shock, and deadly anger. All it did was add to the horror Peter was feeling. He was having a hard time breathing. If he didn’t fix that soon, he might pass out.

 

Maybe if he passed out, he’d wake up at home.

 

Wouldn’t that be nice.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, dumbly.

 

Rhodey grimaced, nodded, and walked off into the base.

 

For a moment, there was silence. No one moved, although to Peter, the whole room felt like it was rocking back forth like a boat. Sam’s hands found his arms, steading him just slightly and he was grateful, but it wasn’t enough. Any moment the floor would open up and swallow him or the roof would cave in or—

 

“I suppose you should come in, then,” Hawkeye finally said. “We can’t stay in the garage forever.” He tried to smile at them, but it looked more like a grimace.

 

He and Black Widow led the way, as steady hands guided Peter after them inside.

 

He walked numbly, all thoughts of excitement and scientific exploration long-gone. He didn't want to have to deal with the stupid disc. He didn't want to have to think about all the differences between this world and his own. He didn't think it was cool anymore that Bucky and Sam thought he was smart and capable.

 

He wanted somebody else to take over. He wanted to wake up and pretend like this whole thing had never happened. He wanted to forget everything he learned here, but he couldn't. He couldn't forget the look on Pepper's or Rhodey's or Natasha's face. He couldn't forget the fact that some form of him had killed, and he'd killed Tony Stark.

 

He didn't want to be here anymore. He didn't want to be in a world where he could be a killer.

 

God, Peter just wanted to go _home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if updates start getting a bit more spread out--writer's block and college classes are real bitches
> 
> <3
> 
> Please let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Ooh man I'm so excited for this fic. I've got a lot planned, so hopefully you'll stick along for the ride! Things only get crazier from here lol
> 
> Thanks for reading, and as always, comments really make my day! <3


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